


Draco Malfoy & the Order (Working Title)

by calcifxr



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy Feels, Draco Tries to Be Nice, Dumbledore's Army, F/M, Harry Potter & Ron Weasley Friendship, Harry Potter AU, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, M/M, Order of the Phoenix - Freeform, Slytherin, still an asshole #sometimes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 15:26:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12192561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calcifxr/pseuds/calcifxr
Summary: Draco Malfoy – perhaps rather grudgingly – agrees to help his best friend Harry Potter in forming Dumbledore's Army to fight against Umbridge's reign on Hogwarts, and can't help but begin to notice Neville Longbottom's valiant efforts to beat the demons inside him.Set after Cedric Diggory's death and the rise of Lord Voldemort.





	Draco Malfoy & the Order (Working Title)

**Author's Note:**

> The two boys have been friends ever since Draco sat down in Harry's compartment on their first ride to Hogwarts, in which Draco – unknowingly – dispelled the doubts about Slytherin Harry had, allowing him to embrace his sorting into the Slytherin house.

A fly was buzzing against Draco’s ear. He swatted it away lazily, and then used the hand to stifle a yawn. The sun was a bright white orb hanging high in the constant stretch of blazing blue sky above him, but he was sheltered safely under the shade of the stone pavilion, watching students hurry over the yellow grass of the quadrangle in their draping black school robes, squinting under the intense heat. He felt the slow tickle of sweat that ran down his slender neck like oil clinging to his pale skin, and his sleek white blond hair was damp as though he had attempted to douse his head with a water bottle. Each time the dry wind changed course and headed his way, it felt like a breath of cool air against the moistness. 

In front of him, sitting on the low wall with his back against a stone pillar, Harry Potter snoozed comfortably, his shock of jet-black hair pasted to the sides of his face with sweat, old moon-framed spectacles sitting crooked on his nose. The breeze gently brushed against his forehead, revealing the faint edge of a scar shaped like a lightening bolt. 

It was the hottest summer Draco had seen in all of his fifteen years. He had taken off his black robes and school vest despite the rules, and his white shirt clung to his flesh like a wet rag. One leg was placed on the wall, the other slung lazily over. The fly was back. Irritated, he dug his wand out of his pocket and gave it a flick, and the insect buzzed off, vibrating slightly. 

Near his hanging leg, a girl with short ink-black hair flipped a page of her Defence Against the Dark Arts book, muttering softly to herself. She had olive skin, which had taken a deep tan over the summer. Across from them, a scrawny boy with tussled brown hair and rosy cheeks was sitting similarly to Draco and Harry on the other low wall, snoring slightly with his mouth parted. 

“Why do you bother reading that thing?” Draco drawled lazily in his bored tone as he watched a pretty sixth year girl walk past them under the pavilion. “It’s not like we’re going to be using it.” He caught the dirty look she passed Harry’s way, and felt his irritation deepen.

“Exactly. Since that hag isn’t teaching it to us, I might as well do it myself,” responded Noel Runcorn, turning another page without looking up.

Draco glanced at Harry’s left hand, which was bandaged roughly and slightly red with dried blood. It had been a week since they had begun school, and was introduced to their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Dolores Umbridge, appointed from the Ministry of Magic. The pink-clad frog-faced bitch turned out to be quite a nuisance when she announced that they will be “commencing with a Ministry approved course of education, _Defensive Magical Theory_ ”, and theory basically meant they were not going to be using actual spells in DADA classes. Of course, Harry, like the fool he is, loudly proclaimed what was the point of coming to class if they weren’t going to use actual spells, since theory wasn’t going to be much of a help in the real world, and then of course went ahead and mentioned Lord Voldemort – and this was enough for Umbridge to stop smiling sweetly and give him a week’s worth of detention with her ‘special quill’.

Another heavy wind bristled their way, kicking up dried leaves, and Noel sighed, setting down her book. “I don’t understand why we couldn’t sit in our common room, or the library. It’s so bloody hot.”

“Pansy’s there,” mumbled Draco.

He could literally hear her eyes rolling. “Yeah, but at least it’ll be cooler.” After a moment, she said, “How long are you planning to avoid her?”

He shrugged, not really caring that she could not see the gesture. It had been a miscalculation on his behalf to think that Noel, who was much cleverer than Pansy, would become a Prefect alongside him (That being said, he had been pleasantly surprised that _he_ was chosen instead of Potter, because Harry seems to be Dumbledore’s favourite student. Draco really did not understand the criteria). Now on top of seeing her in the common room and between classes, he got extra face time with Pansy during their prefectural duties too. The thought made him groan inwardly.

Harry stirred, mumbling in his sleep, and Draco caught the words “don’t” and “Cedric”. Noel’s head tilted slightly, listening, and she finally glanced up and met Draco’s cold stormy grey eyes with her own pair of warm dark grey. A look passed between the two.

Less than a few months ago, after a Triwizard Tournament gone wrong, Harry Potter had returned back to Hogwarts using a portkey and a dead body, and announced that the dark wizard, You-Know-Who, had returned once more. With no proof but only his word against the Minster for Magic, who seemed vehement on denying his claims, Harry had been thrown into a world of antagonism, distrust, and scrutiny. The fact that someone had been blocking Draco, Noel and Theodore’s letters to Harry, and his letters back to them, had only fuelled the boy’s anger and resentment at being kept in the dark about the wizarding world over the summer.

Of course, the fact that Harry got attacked by two dementors and had to perform a Patronus charm as defence in front of a Muggle had not helped. He had been momentarily expelled from school, then called for an inquiry at the Ministry, and then finally packed off and sent to live the Weasley family, who were known to be part of the Order of the Phoenix.

Draco’s father had told him nothing of this despite possessing the knowledge of Harry’s fate, and he could feel the hostility towards the man had begun to build up over the last few weeks. He could still hear his father’s low hiss in his ears: “Don’t be friends with the Dark Lord’s enemy, Draco. We’ll all be killed.”

When they had finally met again on the train back to Hogwarts, Harry had let loose like a whistling kettle, yelling at them until all his bitterness seemed to have deflated and he finally received answers. “It was only to be expected,” Noel had said calmly, “if my best friends ignored me over the summer after I saw You-Know-Who return, I’ll be furious too.”

He glanced at Harry again. The boy was sleeping peacefully, the worry that normally stretched over him like a blanket of gloom gone from his face. Ever since he had returned to school, Harry would sometimes twitch violently and moan Cedric Diggory’s name in the night, as though the dead boy still haunted his nightmares. Draco dismissed his father’s words from his mind, and stifled another yawn.

“How about we go watch Gryffindor tryouts?” suggest Noel, snapping her book shut and standing up. “I’ve been reading the same sentence over and over and it still hasn’t sunk in.”

“Are you crazy?” he replied incredulously. “In this sun?”

“God knows you could use it,” Noel responded, looking at his pale complexion. “Lobster, Gargoyle and Zucchini said they were going.” 

“Lobster and–” began Draco, then faltered. “Crabbe, Goyle and Zabini?” A beat. “Wait, is _Pansy_ going–”

“Do I look like Pasty’s mother? Come on, Ice Prince, wake up Scarhead, and I’ll get Teddy. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I hear Longbottom’s trying out this year.”

Draco stared at her. He begun laughing. _“Longbottom_ is trying out for the team? This I got to see.”

He prodded Harry’s leg with his shoe sharply, and the boy startled awake, scowling slightly. “I wasn’t, sir,” he mumbled, his voice drowsy, and straightened his glasses, blinking his vivid green eyes back and forth between Draco and Noel. His scowl deepened. “What’d you wake me up for?”

“C’mon,” Noel said, stuffing her book into her bag and grabbing hold of Harry’s arm, hoisting him along. He stumbled to his feet clumsily, almost slipping before straightening himself, and she walked over to the rosy cheeked boy on the other wall, and clapped her hands sharply in front of his face.

Theodore Nott startled awake, his mouth clamping shut, and looked around wildly before noticing Noel and Draco’s smirks. “What?” he demanded. “Is it Umbridge? Is she coming?”

“No, we’re going to watch Gryffindor tryouts,” answered Draco, following after Noel and Harry with a lazy stride.

“In this heat?” said Theodore, blinking back sleep rapidly as he joined them.

“That’s what I said...”

The hill weaving down from the pavilion to the Quidditch pitch was long and full of patches of dead, yellowing grass. Draco could feel the heat radiating off the lawns in heatwaves, and the soles of his shoes seemed to burn under him. Pretty soon they were sweating again, throats dry, skins warm. Next to him, Theodore was already panting. He really was not an outdoor wizard.

“Brilliant idea, _Christmas_ ,” Draco called to her back as she lead the gang forward. In a quieter tone he mumbled, “Let’s go see the tryouts, she said. Would be fun, she said.”

“Just a little longer, prissy,” he heard her singsong, her voice ringing with laughter. Harry turned back to shoot him an amused look.

“Better get used to it,” he called, “we’ve got to practice for the upcoming game in this heat.”

Finally, they reached the entrance of the Quidditch pitch, and climbed the staircase up a few floors before remerging into the sunlight, and took their seats at the very back to get a clearer view. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around them, encircling the large oval of grass below, and was already occupied by assorted hangers-on, mostly from other Quidditch teams grouped halfway up the empty stands. At either end of the pitch were large golden goalposts with hoops at the top. There were already half a dozen broomsticks up in the air, the players dressed in their red uniforms.

Noel was making her way to were Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle were sitting side by side. Draco quickly took a seat next to Harry, avoiding Pansy’s eye.

“Take a good look, Potter,” said Noel, “weed out our competition.”

“Seems like a rather hopeless lot.” Theodore looked at the scene dubiously. “Is this necessary?”

“You were fine sleeping the whole afternoon away.”

“Yes, but now thinking about it, I’d much rather be spending my time finishing my Potions assignment. Snape said he won’t let us in his N.E.W.T. classes with less than an Outstanding–”

“You’re welcome to walk all the way back by yourself,” said Noel generously, and he scowled at her.

“Oh, there’s Ron. He told me he’s trying out for Keeper,” said Harry. Sure enough, Draco saw the brilliant red of Weasley’s hair bobbing in the middle of the many hopefuls exiting from the changing room into the bright sunlight of the pitch. As the Gryffindors squinted at the sun, they were welcomed by a storm of catcalls and jeers from the crowd – namely, the Slytherins.

“What’s that Weasley’s riding?” he sneered loudly. His voice echoed around the stadium, and he knew that he caught the Gryffindors’ attention. “Why would anyone put a Flying Charm on a mouldy old log like that?”

Noel, Theodore, Pansy, Vincent and Gregory guffawed and shrieked with laughter. Weasley mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground, flying close by to flash them his middle finger, a known rude Muggle gesture. He was close enough for Draco to see that his ears had turned red, matching his hair.

“Who’s their Captain?” came Blaise’s deep voice. “Angelia Johnson?”

He spotted her black braided her near the goalposts. She raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to one of the Weasley twins, who passed to his twin, who passed to his younger brother Ron, who dropped it.

The Slytherins roared and screamed with laughter. Harry crossed his arms and frowned.

“He just needs practice, he was alright when we played together,” he said, but he looked slightly embarrassed as he watch Weasley nosedived toward the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed. The boy pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height, his face furiously red.

“Gryffindor are losers,” Draco announced.

“Gryffindor are losers,” repeated Noel playfully, and then suddenly she was joined in by the other Slytherins – save Harry and Blaise – in chanting the line over and over again. As practise continued, the other players passing each other the balls and trying to get it through the hoop, Ron was clumsily blocking them with what looked like sheer luck and bad posture. Each time he failed to block a goal, the chanting got louder. Weasley’s red face shone like a beacon against the bright blue sky.

“Can you shut up now, you’re making him nervous,” said Harry.

“That’s the idea, Potter.”

Harry threw Draco a withering look, and turned back to the game. “Hang on,” he said suddenly, surprised, as he leaned forward and squinted up at the lanky figure with light hair hovering on his broomstick near the goalposts on their far left. “Is that _Neville?_ Blimey. I wonder what position he’s playing.”

“He’s just kind of sitting there, isn’t he?” Theodore observed.

Draco could not see Neville Longbottom’s face, since the boy had his back to them, but recalled the boy’s stupid, gullible face from first year with his buck tooth and snivelling attitude, and smirked slightly. Longbottom was hopeless at everything he tried. He was a scaredy cat that ran away from Draco, who stuttered while he spoke, who couldn’t get a single spell right in class. There was no way he was going to make the team. Brave of him to try, though. He’d probably fall off his broomstick before–

Neville suddenly made a sharp dive, and Draco immediately went, “Ah, and there he goes.”

However, his smile suddenly disappeared from his face when he realised that the boy was not falling off his broom, but rather speeding towards something he had spotted on the ground. A hand reached out, and he swiped at something glittering metres away from the floor, then turned his broomstick back up sharply, slowly rising with his fist clenched in the air.

Next to him, Harry let out a triumphant roar. “Did you see that?” he said, looking pleased. “Neville! A Seeker! He was _brilliant_.”

On either side of him, Noel and Draco sat with their hands crossed, their expressions sour. “Is it healthy for our new captain to be this happy for the opposing team?” said Noel over Harry’s clapping.

“I’ll let it go this one time,” Draco said, with equal grouch, “Potter’s been giving us wins after wins since he joined the team, after all.”

“Except for that time in our third year–” began Theodore.

“We don’t talk about third year,” said Harry with a slight edge to his tone, still smiling and clapping. He waved someone over, and after a few seconds there was a short blast of wind and Neville Longbottom dismounted from his broom, landing softly onto the seat row in front of them.

“Hello, ‘Arry.” Neville grinned. He was sweating slightly, out of breath.

Draco stared.

Something had changed for Longbottom over the summer; he was leaner, all of a sudden, and had shot up a few inches. His cool blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight. When did he fix his teeth? Draco thought wildly. There was a dash of freckled down his high nose bridge, but other than that Longbottom looked the same...and yet different... Oh. His hair was longer. Neville’s butter blond waves were reaching past his ears. He ran his fingers through it casually as he spoke.

“...you’re the Slytherin captain now? Congratulations, mate.”

“Thanks Neville. I’d be looking out for you on the field then, eh?”

Neville laughed. “Nah, maybe. I mean, I hope so. I flew around all summer with Seamus and Dean, so I think I’ve gotten better at it.”

“Reckon you’re almost as good a Seeker as Harry is now,” came Noel’s voice. She smirked at him lazily.

The boy blushed violently, and stuttered, “T-Thanks, Runcorn.” Ah, there was the Neville they all knew and loved to take the piss out of.

“I better get back,” he said, looking rather relieved when he heard the coach’s whistle go off from the oval. “See you around, Harry. Runcorn, Nott – er, Malfoy,” he added, noticing the rest of them.

“Bye, Neville,” said Harry, as the boy mounted his broomstick again and kicked off into the air, flying back down into the field.

After a brief pause, Noel suddenly leaned forward, looking directly at Draco’s face. “Is it just me, or has Longbottom gotten rather attractive all of a sudden?"

He did not hesitate to answer.

“It’s just you.”

**Author's Note:**

> please comment if you like it, i don't know if it's any good ajafhfkj


End file.
